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Friday evening, I walked out of work and my eyes immediately filled with tears as I made my way across the parking lot to my car. I had been in a funk all week, and found myself more than ever wanting (and sometimes choosing) to skip my usual nightly after-work skating or yoga routine so that I could go home and curl up under warm blankets with my cat and sleep. I chalked it up to a few weeks off from my normal schedule due to the holidays, and maybe a touch of seasonal affective disorder due to the record low temperatures we’ve been experiencing. When I started crying on Friday, unable to stop during my drive, after I parked my car, got inside and collapsed on my couch, I realized what had been wrong all this time. January 4th, the Sunday that began this week, was the day my grandmother went into the hospital two years ago and never came home again.

While I live a life that is so full of love and joy and people who care about me, many of whom I see every single day, the loneliness I feel right now is palpable, perched on my shoulder and accompanying me throughout my day.

There is a hole in my chest that nothing can fill, because no one else is her.

Even though this has already happened, and it’s over, every January it feels like the clock restarts and I am once again powerless to stop what is happening.

So many things have changed, and so many things have gotten better since that first January 4th. But it still hasn’t gotten easier. At least not yet.

Time does not heal all wounds. Time merely allows you to put perspective between you and the wound.

I have not yet gained the perspective I need to best handle the loss I feel when I acknowledge my grandmother’s absence.

But I take comfort in knowing that I will, and it will get better, with time.

My grandmother died a year ago today. On Tax Day. For some reason, after all that went on during the four and a half months leading up to her death, I found comfort in the fact that Gram got out of doing her taxes this one time. My grandmother was incredibly financially shrewd and might have hated giving her hard earned money to the government more than anyone else I know. So it was a kind of justice that she skipped out on the day taxes are due. During her stay there, the nurses in the ICU often remarked that Gram was “a feisty one.” If they only knew.

The tragedy that happened at the Boston Marathon last April 15th, as horrific and sad as it was, has little meaning to me. This is because I experienced it through a muted television in a hospital room in which my grandmother took her final gasping breaths while hooked up to a monitoring system that now, instead of reflecting her pulse and blood pressure and oxygen levels (that my aunts and grandfather and I used to anxiously watch like hawks), only showed a ticking clock underneath the word “Comfort” in small letters. However selfish it is to say, I experienced a far greater tragedy that day, and as a result, the Boston Marathon bombings fail to resonate with me.

My problem with bisexuality is not that “they just can’t decide.” My problem is not that “they’re confused.” My problem is not that “they’re being greedy”. My problem is that “they” are me, and you probably didn’t know that.

Really, it’s just not fair – bisexuals can live under the guise of being straight, and therefore conform more nicely into society somewhat unintentionally, if they just happen to only meet and date people of the opposite sex. I know this, because it’s what I’ve done all of my life.

Since I last updated this blog, I have bought my first house, left a great job, came back to an even better job, learned to roller skate, got involved with roller derby, broke my ankle, and started the process of (and still am) recovering from an ankle break. As you can see, I have found plenty to keep me busy. I would love to resurrect this blog again someday, but for now, I will be satisfied with being the one who introduced many of you to women peeing standing up, reusable menstrual products, the difference between octopus and squid, and more. Maybe I’ll impart you with useless knowledge again soon. Until then, enjoy the archives!

While I’m no longer a big SNL fan because it’s just never as good as the cast you watched when YOU were in high school (for everyone, I know – but I had greats that are hard to compete with like Will Ferrell, Cheri Oteri and Molly Shannon), I thought this opening sketch from last night was pretty funny. Mostly because I agree with fake Quincy Jones’ (aka Keenan!) need to raise awareness about the “We Are the World 2 Disaster”.

Be ready to bow down to the tentacles before you when giant squid take over.

Just a little clarification – what the media have been referring to as “giant squid” the last several months are not actually squid of the genus architeuthis, but Humboldt squid, an unusually large species of squid that can grow up to 7 feet long and weigh up to 100 pounds. A squid of formidable size, and certainly large, but maybe not giant.

The results are in: Cephaloblog readers like reusable menstrual products because they are comfortable and convenient.

First, thank you to everyone who entered – I love hearing why women are interested in reusable menstrual methods and the response always impresses me. I have randomly selected five winners and emailed them asking for their mailing addresses. If you entered but did not win, I hope you consider purchasing Greenblooded yourself (for a mere $2, why not?!) – and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Because you ladies ended up being so creative with your one-word answers (which I loved, really), I wasn’t able to offer a list of top 10 reasons, as planned. Instead, I broke down your answers into six basic categories: Comfort, Convenience, Cost, Empowerment, Environment, Health and then an additional Other category to cover answers that couldn’t quite be labeled.